the sickness

i'm gorgeous, i'm loved. but, something is... off.

i've had the condition for fifteen years now. i black out for hours, collapse to the floor and don't move.

or so, i thought.

recently, i've been finding strange things.

pristine white gloves, smeared with dirt.

sharp, boxy shoes that aren't mine.

torn coats and dresses, their silk and satin drenched in

blood.